Empire Falls

neutral about the idea. If anything in the world could ruin the island for him, it would be Walt Comeau’s presence. Of course, the idea of a blowhard like the Silver Fox anywhere outside of Empire Falls was absurd, but Miles didn’t dare laugh. A year ago Walt had joked that if Miles wasn’t careful he was going to steal his wife, and then he’d gone ahead and done it.
    Walt scratched his chin thoughtfully, while contemplating a discard. “I figure my club here’s doing pretty well. Practically runs itself. Now might be a good time to expand.” He sounded as if his only obstacle was the matter of timing. The Silver Fox liked to imply that money was never a consideration, that every bank in Dexter County was eager to loan him whatever capital he didn’t have. Miles doubted this was true, but it might be. He’d also doubted that his soon-to-be-ex-wife was the sort of woman to be taken in by Walt Comeau’s bravado, and he’d certainly been wrong about that.
    “Go ahead and split if you want,” David told him. “He’ll be wanting to arm-wrestle you in a minute.”
    Miles shrugged. “I think he just comes in to let me know there’s no hard feelings.”
    This elicited a chuckle. “About the way he stole your wife?”
    “Some sins trail their own penance,” Miles said softly, after glancing toward the back room, where Tick could be heard loading dirty dishes into the ancient Hobart. One of the few things Miles and Janine had been able to agree on when their marriage came apart was that they wouldn’t speak ill of each other in front of their daughter. The agreement, Miles knew, worked much to his advantage, since most of the time he had no desire to speak ill of his ex-wife, whereas Janine always appeared to be strangling on her wretched opinion of him. Of course, all the other agreements they’d arrived at—such as letting her stay in the house until it sold and the one that gave her the better car and most of their possessions—worked pretty much in Janine’s favor, which left Miles staggering with debt.
    “Tick really had a good time?”
    Miles nodded. “You should’ve seen her. She was like her old self, before all the shit started raining down on her. She smiled for a solid week.”
    “Good.”
    “She met a boy, too.”
    “That always helps.”
    “Don’t tease her about it, now.”
    “Okay,” David promised, though it was one that would be hard for him to keep.
    Miles took off his apron and tossed it in the hamper by the door. “You should take a week yourself. Go someplace.”
    His brother shrugged. “Why invite disaster? I’m down to one arm as it is. I ever let myself go someplace fun, I might start misbehaving, and then I’d have to flip your burgers with my toes.”
    He was right, of course. Miles knew his brother had been sober since the afternoon three years ago when, returning from a hunting trip up in The County, David, drunk, had fallen asleep at the wheel and run his pickup off a mountain road into a ravine. Airborne, the truck had hit a tree and there parted company with its unseatbelted driver, the vehicle careening a good hundred yards down the ravine and coming to rest well out of sight in the thick woods. David, thrown free of the cab, had gotten snagged by his hunting vest in the upper branches of a tree and hung there, some fifty feet above the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness, his arm shattered in several places and four ribs fractured, until he was discovered half frozen the next morning by a group of hunters, one of whom had stationed himself beneath the very tree David improbably dangled from, unable to utter a sound. If his bladder hadn’t given way, as David was fond of remarking, he’d still be twisting there in the frigid wind, a sack of tough L.L. Bean outerwear full of bleached bones.
    That lonely, hallucinatory night had proved more effective than all the therapies he’d undergone in the various substance abuse clinics he’d been admitted to over the previous decade. His old Empire Falls drinking buddies, most of whom were still roaring around Dexter County in beer-laden snowmobiles, occasionally sought David out, hoping to nudge him gently off the wagon by reminding him how much more fun the drinking life was, but so far he’d resisted their invitations. The year before, he’d bought a small camp in the woods off Small Pond Road, and he said that whenever he felt the urge to stare at the world through the brown glass of an empty